


Impossible

by crazyjane



Category: VIXX
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjane/pseuds/crazyjane
Summary: A feature film. In Hollywood. A lead role in one of the biggest movie franchises in the world, a three movie deal with an appearance in the big ensemble cast for the climax of the series. A strong, powerful hero with a complicated backstory, not just the token Asian sidekick. Everything Hongbin had ever wanted, that Sanghyuk had wantedforhim, finally within his grasp.Flying out to Los Angeles tonight on the red-eye.Leaving Sanghyuk behind.
Relationships: Han Sanghyuk | Hyuk/Lee Hongbin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 17





	Impossible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kenjinist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenjinist/gifts).



> Written from a Twitter prompt by kenjinist ... this picture, and '15,000 words of angst'.
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/vvFfNdb)
> 
> Okay, so it's not _quite_ that long ... but I hope you enjoy it, anyway.

Hollywood.

_Hollywood_.

The dream, shared late at night while tangled together in cheap cotton sheets. An impossible dream that kept Hongbin and Sanghyuk going when the work dried up and all they could get were tiny parts in web-dramas, when just landing a commercial here and there was all they could find. Living on instant ramen so the rent could be paid, shopping their portfolios and show reels around to every agency, no matter how small. Waiting for that one role that would catapult them out of obscurity and grab the attention of the world. Always holding each other up, not needing to swear anything to each other because it was there in every look, every gesture, every kiss. 

The two of them making the jump to the A list, grabbing for stardom and never looking back. Getting away from the place that would never really accept them for who they are. Coming out together. Sharing the red carpet, the accolades and the inevitable flops, all the myriad ways their lives would change forever. Sharing everything.

And now the dream was coming true.

They’re at the launch of _No Limits_ , their latest job together, an action drama in which, inevitably, Hongbin had played the romantic lead, and Sanghyuk the slightly-quirky-but-completely-loyal best friend. They’d been cast together in this way so many times that they were becoming known as a duo. ( _If only they knew_ , Sanghyuk had whispered in Hongbin’s ear when a reporter referred to them that way, grinning at Hongbin’s sudden blush.) This script hadn’t seemed any different from a dozen others, but something in it had caught the right person’s eye. And so here they are, posing for photos and answering questions, until Cha Hakyeon, the director, steps up in front of the cameras, throws his arm around Hongbin’s shoulders in the overly-familiar way he interacts with all of them, and beams with pride as Hongbin announces his news with a smile that makes Sanghyuk's heart ache.

A feature film. In Hollywood. A lead role in one of the biggest movie franchises in the world, a three movie deal with an appearance in the big ensemble cast for the climax of the series. A strong, powerful hero with a complicated backstory, not just the token Asian sidekick. Everything Hongbin had ever wanted, that Sanghyuk had wanted _for_ him, finally within his grasp.

Flying out to Los Angeles tonight on the red-eye.

Leaving Sanghyuk behind.

_Of course you’re going._

_Are you sure?_

_This is your chance, Bean._

_It feels wrong._

_Don’t be an idiot. You’re not getting another opportunity like this. You’ll kick yourself if you don’t take it. And I’ll kick you, too._

_I love you._

_Damn right you do._

The memory of that conversation replays now in Sanghyuk’s mind, only half-listening to the excited back-and-forth of questions and answers. His face is schooled into the same expression he’d worn ever since they’d first talked about the offer; encouraging, happy about his lover’s big break. Everything else is locked down tight. As he watches Hongbin’s smile grow wider, his gestures more animated and enthusiastic, Sanghyuk vows for the hundredth time, _I won’t screw this up for you_. He stands on the podium, the perfect supporting cast, and pushes back the urge to pull Hongbin into his arms and break apart and beg over and over, _don’t leave me_.

Just as it seems the impromptu interview will never end, an assistant tugs at the director’s sleeve, whispering in his ear urgently. At first annoyed, Hakyeon’s expression quickly changes to one of determined calculation. It’s a look Sanghyuk instantly recognises from filming; making plans on the fly whenever they hit a problem with the script or a stunt. _What’s happened? What’s gone wrong?_ For the merest second he thinks maybe the offer’s fallen through, that Hongbin won’t be leaving after all, and the relief he feels makes him instantly ashamed of himself. 

He barely hears what Hakyeon says next, something about _sorry_ and _storm_ and _thank you all_ , aware only of Hongbin’s puzzled expression and his own guilty hope. A hand on his arm, Hakyeon gently nudging him ahead, the three of them off the podium, back into the green room. The explanation comes then; typhoon off the coast, changing track right into the flight path of the plane Hongbin would be on. _We have more time_ , Sanghyuk thinks. _At least a few more hours, maybe days_. But Hakyeon only shakes his head, and Sanghyuk only realises then that he’s spoken aloud. 

The company found a seat on an earlier flight and sent Hongbin’s bags on ahead. 

The car is leaving now.

There’s no more time. 

The door shuts, and he’s in Hongbin’s arms, held so tightly he can’t breathe. Hongbin’s lips on his, frantic, breathing _I’m sorry I love you I’ll call you_ between kisses, but Sanghyuk has no words to whisper back, no tears, only a hollow ache that paralyses him. _Walk me to the car_ , Hongbin’s hand holding his tightly. One last kiss, fierce and desperate and over too soon, and there are cameras and gasps that Sanghyuk can’t bring himself to care about.

And Hongbin is gone.

Thanks to Hakyeon’s intervention, Sanghyuk only has to put in a token appearance at the after-party. The director distracts everyone from the inevitable questions with a broad smile, extravagant praise for their work, and the promise of an open bar that Sanghyuk exploits immediately. He has time to get drunk enough to lose some co-ordination, not enough to become numb. A car is summoned; he climbs into the back seat almost before it’s stopped moving, unable to bear the understanding and sympathy in Hakyeon’s eyes. The driver doesn’t talk, and Sanghyuk is grateful, because the only voice he wants to hear can’t reach him now. 

The phone in his pocket buzzes three times before he gets home; he doesn’t bother answering. Reporters can wait. Friends can wait. 

At first glance, the apartment looks the same. The differences are hidden behind doors, a space in the wardrobe, absences from the shelves in the bathroom. Everything else looks just the way it should, right down to the two coffee mugs sitting upturned in the rack next to the sink, and the snarl of cables and controllers from the old gaming system they’d kept because of one stupid game, the first they’d played together. But there’s no sense of someone else, no scent of Hongbin’s cologne in the next room, no odd echo of Hongbin practising his lines in the shower. Unable to bear the silence, Sanghyuk shrugs off his coat and sinks down onto the couch, snatching up the remote control. His thumb moves automatically, flicking through channels.

Cartoon … news … drama … game show … reality show, reality show, reality show … movie, and that one is banished as quickly as possible because it’s one of Hongbin’s first roles … breaking news.

It comes to him in fragments.

Typhoon.

Plane.

_Crash_.

He sits frozen with the remote in his hand, staring at the anchor with her serious face, hearing nothing but his own mind screaming _that’s not his flight, that isn’t him, he got out in time, he’s asleep in his seat or playing an in-flight game or listening to that goddamn Park Hyoshin playlist again._

_It isn’t him._

_It isn’t_.

He reaches for his coat, for his phone, but Hongbin’s in the air now. Of course the call won’t go through because _he’s turned it off_ , not because it’s shattered or burned or sinking into cold, deep water, _he’s turned it off, that’s all. He’ll call me when he lands_. He just has to wait. He can wait. Eleven hours’ flight time, two hours getting through customs - no, make it three, just in case, maybe a quick meet-and-greet with the new director before going to the hotel. Then he’ll call. Less than a day to wait. Not that long. Forever.

The chime from the apartment’s intercom startles Sanghyuk. He looks over at it, for a moment not even processing what it means. It sounds again, and he’s up and scrambling, _oh thank god, he’s missed the flight_. His hand closes on the door, he has time to think, _why didn’t he use his key?_ Then the door is open, and it’s not Hongbin, it’s Hakyeon standing there, and one look at the director’s devastated face tells him everything he doesn’t want to know.

After that, it’s quiet. After that, colours are faded and there’s a veil between him and the world. He drinks cup after cup of bitter, black coffee, the way Hongbin likes it, and he can barely taste anything. He sleeps on the couch because the bedroom is too far away and too awful to think about, wakes only long enough to stumble to the bathroom and avoid the mirror, and sleeps again despite the caffeine coursing through his bloodstream. Somewhere, he hears chiming. Somewhere, there’s a buzzing that vibrates through the cushions. It doesn’t matter.

Surfacing from yet another restless sleep, dreaming of Hongbin again, laughing with him, loving him, kissing him for the last time as the world watched. _He’s gone. He’s really gone._ The words are no more real to him than they were hours ago. Or days. It doesn’t matter. _I should cry, he thinks, you’re supposed to cry._ He’s forgotten how to do that. How to do anything but the most basic actions. He shifts onto his side and grimaces at the pressure on his bladder. Bathroom. That, he can still do. On his feet, shuffling, a chime, and he thinks sluggishly, _intercom_. He moves on instinct, watches it loom larger in his vision, watches his hand press the door release, thinks, _why am I doing this?_

The door opens, and that’s when he knows he’s finally slipped away from reality altogether, because the man standing there can’t _be_ there. That man is gone into the sea. That man’s eyes are closed, so he can’t be looking at him with tears spilling over onto his face. That man will never deliver another line, so he can’t be babbling _hospital_ and _just woke up_ and _please, please, say something_. That man is still, and cold, so he can’t be wrapping him up in his arms and holding on tightly and _so warm_. 

But if this is what it means to go crazy, he’ll take it.

‘Hyukkie, please. It’s really me, I’m really here, I’m so sorry. Please look at me.’

He can’t. He doesn’t dare. He knows if he lifts his head, if he moves, if he _breathes_ , there’ll be no one there. Hands on his shoulders, easing him backwards, and he slams his eyes shut and thinks _let me stay here, let me pretend, I don’t care_. 

‘Please.’

He whispers, ‘ _no_ …’

‘I love you.’

Aching, dreading what will happen, Sanghyuk opens his eyes. 

Hongbin.

Warm. Alive. 

Impossible.

‘You’re dead,’ Sanghyuk’s voice is stunned and small. ‘You’re dead. You drowned, you … can’t be here.’ Hongbin says something, but Sanghyuk can’t hear past the clamour in his head, because he’s starting to hope, and he _can’t_ hope. Can’t let himself believe that he’s not dreaming, that he won’t wake with his face creased from the couch cushions and remember that there’s no reason not to just go straight back to sleep. 

‘ _Hyukkie_.’ Shake of his shoulders, the same fondly exasperated look he sees in the mornings when he mumbles _five more minutes_. The same threat, ‘Don’t make me pinch you,’ and it’s real, _Hongbin_ is real. And then they’re grabbing for each other, and kissing like they’re both starving, like they’ve been apart for years. Hongbin growls _fuck Hollywood_ and _I’ll never leave you again_ against Sanghyuk’s mouth as they tumble onto the couch and push their hands under each other’s clothes, desperate for the touch of skin. 

There are a thousand questions crowding Sanghyuk’s mind; _how did you survive, where were you, what about your movie_. The only one that makes it past his lips, is ‘What took you so long?’

Hongbin stares at him, incredulous. ‘What took me so long?’ he splutters. ‘I was knocked out. I was in hospital, I discharged myself when the doctor didn’t want to let me go. All I could think about was getting home to you and you wouldn’t even answer your goddamn phone, what do you mean, _what took me so long_?’ The corners of Sanghyuk’s mouth twitch upward in the beginnings of a smile. ‘Idiot,’ mutters Hongbin, but even as he says it, his own smile mirrors Sanghyuk’s.

‘Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me,’ Sanghyuk declares. 

Hongbin’s eyes narrow. ‘Oh really? And how am I supposed to do that?’ Lowering his head, he kisses Sanghyuk. ‘Like this?’ Another kiss, this one slow and lingering. ‘Like _this_?’

‘Hmm. I’ll have to think about it.’ Sanghyuk pretends to consider the offer. ‘It’s a start.’ Hongbin scowls, and Sanghyuk just grins at him and pulls him in for another kiss that says _welcome home_ and _I love you_ and all the things he can’t find the words for right now.

There’s a conversation looming in their future about movies, and careers, and where do they go from here now that they’ve outed themselves to the world. They both know it, and Sanghyuk can’t bear to think about letting go, saying goodbye while Hongbin chases his dream. But Hongbin whispers against his skin, over and over, ‘I’ll never leave you again,’ and it sounds like a promise. Maybe it’s a promise that can’t be kept, maybe the world will get in the way and pull them apart from each other - but Hongbin’s been given back to him, and he has everything he needs right here in his arms, and that’s enough for him to believe in the impossible.

‘I love you,’ whispers Sanghyuk, and Hongbin grins.

‘Damn right, you do.’


End file.
